


please do not let me go.

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heartbeats, Heartbreak, these feels are nothing we were ever trained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the anon mini fic prompt:</p><p>    things you said when you were crying</p><p>    &</p><p>    things you said when i was crying</p>
            </blockquote>





	please do not let me go.

**Author's Note:**

> BUCKLE UP YOU'RE GONNA NEED TISSUES TBH I AM NOT KIDDING AROUND THIS TIME

You know how this goes. 

Grant Ward dies a hero. 

*

It’s hard to keep track of everyone in the middle of the fight but Skye has gotten pretty good at narrowing it down. The trick is simple; she just listens to their heartbeats. 

May’s is a steady calm, no matter what. Coulson’s beats like a quiet thunder in her head. Jemma and Fitz, well. They’re actually in tune with each other – not that anyone would be surprised by that. 

And Ward. 

Ward’s heart beats loud like a relentless echo in her head; the kind she can’t tune out or ignore, no matter how hard she tries. 

– That is, until it _doesn’t_. 

*

Ward takes a bullet meant for her – Raina’s already seen it, warned Skye about it and called it her consolation prize (whatever the hell _that_ meant) – and Skye doesn’t panic. Not right away, at least. 

He’s got more lives than a cat, for god’s sake. She put four bullets in him herself and he’d walked away from that. 

So he takes a bullet but he keeps on fighting and he’s wearing gear – they all are, honestly – and she doesn’t worry. 

Until his heart skips a beat. Two. And then it skips too many to be coincidental. 

She turns around just in time to see him hit the ground. 

*

Gordon brings Lincoln over before she’s finished screaming for them both. She’s gesturing at Ward’s fallen body with the kind of movements she would normally associate with ~~her father~~ Cal. 

Lincoln is staring at her with worried eyes, speaking slowly as if she is having trouble understanding him. 

She is, though. 

She can’t hear him over the _emptiness_ in her head. There’s no steady beat of Ward’s heart to ground her – the kind of steadiness she never knew she needed – and now that she doesn’t have it to anchor her, she’s hopelessly lost. 

*

“You know what you have to do,” her voice is thick and – _is she crying? why would she be crying?_ – her hands are shaking. “Now bring him _back_.” 

“Skye,” Lincoln shakes his head. Grimaces slightly at the blood staining through the other man’s black gear and the way color leeches from his skin. “There’s nothing I can –” 

She _roars_ with grief.

 

* * *

 

In his head, it all plays out so clearly. 

There is a plan, and there are variables and there are contingencies for each of these variables. 

He is Grant Douglas Ward. He is the best since Romanoff. He doesn’t get caught off guard.

Not anymore. 

And he doesn’t. 

…Skye does. 

And that is _so_ much worse. 

*

She can’t control it. 

Her abilities, she just. 

She can’t control it.

*

They come at her with everything they’ve got. 

Skye puts up one hell of a fight – of _course_ she does, she’s stupidly reckless and determined and _very brave_ – but even she cannot overpower these forces on her own. 

Maybe if her team from the otherside (or the afterlife or whatever the hell they call it) had stuck with her – or _maybe_ if Coulson had known that she snuck out to help defend the base – 

But neither team knows. 

In fact, he’s the _only_ one who knows, because he was stupid enough to follow her without calling for backup. Because he stupidly thought that _this time_ , he’d be _enough_. 

The worst part (best part?) is how they don’t even stay once she’s down. The enemy figures she’s down and out and they move onto the next. 

Ward knows he should find a way to warn the others, let them know somehow that they are completely unprepared for the slaughter coming for them – and yet, somehow finds that he cannot focus on _anything_ other than Skye crumpled on the ground before him. 

(And maybe it’s kinder this way; not knowing your death is coming lends itself to the kind of bliss that people have sought for centuries.)

*

He drops to his knees beside her and begins clutching frantically at whatever part of her seems critical. The problem is, her entire body is critical. There’s blood and muscle and _pain_ coming off her in waves – he’s seen the look in her eyes before in the eyes of fallen comrades and enemies. 

It is the kind of look that you never come back from. 

“C’mon, Skye. _C’MON_.” 

Her body is _seizing_ from the waves of unchecked energy roiling through her veins. She’s choking on nothing, hands clenching at air like she’s trying to grab onto something, anything to anchor herself to and he can’t figure out which injury takes precedence. 

(How is it possible that they _all_ take precedence?)

“You can’t do this, you don’t get to die. Not like _this_.” 

That comment elicits from her a cough poorly disguised as a laugh. “Pretty sure you don’t have the final say here.” 

The intensity of her pain seems to lessen somehow, becoming softer around the edges. He feels like his heart shrunk two sizes and is struggling to beat in time with hers.

“So you’re really gonna let me win this round?”

Her eyes shutter intermittently as she vies for consciousness. “Had to let you,” she lets her hand fall to the pavement, palm up and releases a final burst of energy. “Win… eventually.”

The last man standing, formerly with a gun aimed at his head, drops to the ground. 

Skye breathes with an alarming slowness. 

“I don’t want to win. Not like this.” 

There are raindrops sliding through the grime caked on her face – _is it raining? when did it start raining?_ – as she smiles for the last time. 

“Don’t,” she lifts her chin at him. “It was… worth it.” Skye exhales on her last words. 

She does not breathe again. 

He inhales sharply in the void, as if physically willing her chest to rise with renewed life. 

It doesn’t. 

Now he knows it’s not raining. He knows the streaks on her face are coming from the tears in his eyes. 

He knows that in this, she was wrong. 

She’s _wrong_. He’s _not_ worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com).


End file.
